Two things happened today that I want to write about.
I realize this may not necessarily be the most eloquent or well thought out post… but so often that notion has prevented me from posting on here. Whay purpose does this blog carry if it fails to act as my secrete keeper though— in whatever form my secrets present themselves in.
So, given my rather limited time frame here, I’m going to attempt a one shot, no edits post. Here’s hopin’ the grammatical errors and general typos aren’t too offensive.
Since my sophomore year of high school (I’m now a senior in college), I’ve attended the same open mic at my local Starbucks. I’ve grown up in this space. Those who have regularly attended have witnessed every boy, every bad haircut, and every awkward phase that has come through my life in the last six or seven years. Miraculously they’ve all accepted me though; cherished, celebrated, encouraged me in whatever form I have presented myself in. That version of myself was also the acoustic guitar, crooney love balled wheeling version of myself and today, after many many years of doing just that, I ditched my guitar for simply, myself.
I went up today and I read something that I had written. Now I should note here that I by no means consider myself a poet, a writer, or really even an individual capable of coherently stringing sentences together on a day to day basis. But there I was, standing in front of some incredibly talented poets, writers and musicians… without my guitar, on a whim.
I read my twenty one life lessons– or at least an abridged/ spiely version of them. And as my open mic ended I was honestly ready to simply book it out of there because while I hadn’t regretted my choice to go up, I didn’t feel quite as inclined to hang around either.
But then to my surprise I was actually approached by other performers and attenders who wanted to compliment my insights. In particular, a lovely woman who stopped me on the way out made my night. She stated that for twenty one, I was very put together; she complimented my lessons, my appearance, and then quipped that I seemed thirty. Hah.
On the flip side, my parents left for Europe today. They’re going on their own grand adventure, and I am truly excited for them to experience the same wonders I did. They too will enjoy the sites in their own respective way, while most definitely gaining different insights, but I maintain it will be a beautiful experience regardless.
My mother called me from the airport whilst I was at my open mic and as we chatted through a hurried conversation, she said goodbye and then almost as though it were customary, she threw in three words I have never heard my mother say directly to me before. “I love you.”
Deep dark secrete cave, hold this one dear. That’s right folks, my parents have never said I love you to me. Or my brother for that fact. It used to really eat me up inside. To some extent it still does. And arguably it’s why I have a laundry list of issues with the men in my life and loving another human, BUT, here it was. Over the phone. Casually dropped into a conversation that ranged from “make sure you lock your doors” to “eat a french baguette for me.”
I have more to say about this late event but alas I am out of time. Let this be stated though… life lesson thirteen was about loving my parents. And today, I was given the opportunity to really, truly, begin learning that lesson.
My brain is a carnivorous jumble.